


Guns and Barrels

by NerdyNobody



Category: N.E.R.D.S. - Michael Buckley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27692660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyNobody/pseuds/NerdyNobody
Summary: Oneshot about a bunch of normal, every day assassins. Nothing to see here
Kudos: 5





	Guns and Barrels

The person who comes into this job looking for a long, happy life, is a fool. Plain and simple. You didn't come into something like this looking into the future. All you needed to bother looking forward to was your next target and the journey of getting there. The thrill of a chase. The satisfaction of a job well done. And then your next target. Rinse, repeat. Rinse, repeat.   
  
No, if you came into this job, you made your bed with death. You would know it, and it would know you. And in knowing it better than anyone else in the world, there would be satisfaction once again. You looked over city streets and dark alleys knowing all of the people down there, milling about like ants, going about their mind numbingly average lives, were never even close to true living. Yet they still cling to it. They fear death, never expecting when it may come. They mourn ultimately finite lives, even for those they never knew in the first place. They'll stare down a blade or a long drop below and pray, beg that they may live a little longer. Look to some god or another to grant them the luck of living one more day. Hour. Minute. Second. And even those who accepted death died _slow._ And they feared not just death, but pain too. None of them had made peace with suffering. Not like they had.   
  
What a waste.  
  
That wasn't living. How could one ever truly live when they lived with fear? Fear of death. Pain. The unknown. Such a small view of things. But they were better. So much better. Because they knew death, they knew pain and suffering, and it was only because of that they knew what living truly was. They knew they would only ever truly feel alive as they stared down the barrel of a gun. Hung off a cliff by one dirty, bloody, weakening hand. When they felt a bullet fly just a little too close or a knife cut a line in the fabric of their sleek black jackets. When their guns went off and just like that, the job was complete and it was time to get out.   
  
They knew it all oh so well. And they knew nothing could compare. Not gambling, not drugs, not sex, nothing. You were never alive until you could feel death's cold wheeze on the back of your neck, close enough to drive delicious shivers up your spine and goosebumps along your arms. To live was to know no fear, and to make that bed far before you lay in it. To know no sadness or grief. Because all you needed to know was how to take out a target and move on before you were caught. How to keep moving, and keep no true attachments.   
  
If you were an assassin, that is all you needed to know. Because an assassin who hadn't made their bed with all of these facts was a very, _very_ dead one, usually. And even if they weren't a dead one, they still weren't a living one, for all the previous reasons listed.   
  
Now then, of course-  
  
" _ **BITCH, DID YOU EAT MY FUCKING SALAMI?????"  
  
  
**_ Oh motherfucker.   
  
Eyes turned upwards as a short Korean woman wearing nothing more than a tank top and panties stormed into the main living room of the rented b&b place, early morning sunlight glinting off pitch black hair that had been grown out a bit more than they assumed she liked. She was pissed off, though that wasn't new. the salami package she was waving around however, certainly was. They all turned eyes towards the tall, lanky Mexican who was starting to shrink nervously into the couch. They all turned their eyes away, focusing on what they had been doing prior, reading, cleaning and checking their guns. They didn't know him, they didn't know him, they did _not_ know him. Julio? Who's Julio?  
  
"Duncan! Did Julio eat my motherfucking salami? I was going to have that in a sandwich!"  
  
"Snitches get stitches." Said the short, chubby man, face hidden behind a guns magazine.   
  
"He did." Ruby said, clearly not sharing the same sentiment as she flicked through another page of a worn copy of Shakespeare.   
  
Matilda shouted a war cry, leaping for Julio's throat at the same time the man let out a sound not unlike a fangirling pubescent girl, scrambling away and sending gun parts scattering all over the floor that would surely take an hour to find them all.   
  
Just another average morning.   
  
The group pulled up their legs as the two scrambled about like children fighting over a stolen toy, not paying much attention to them, Julio's food theft habits weren't their problem until it was _their_ food being stolen. Not to say it wasn't at least somewhat amusing.   
  
Heathcliff tuned in mildly as he slid a cloth along metal of his sniper rifle, the imperfections disappearing one by one, barely taking note as a large envelope slid in the mail slot. And then a minute later, two more. When the final two came he huffed, setting the gun down and hefting himself up, by this point figuring it wasn't just bills or something. He picked them up as he ran a hand through his slightly messy red hair, examining the names. Immediately, he knew the look of mission files. Addressed to each of them. He waved them for a moment as a warning, before tossing them over at his fellow assassins. They each caught them and opened them, though the two focused on being children were almost smacked in the face.  
  
"So, who's going where?" Duncan asked idly as they popped open the packages and read through the info given.   
  
"Ooooo, California!" Julio said happily.   
  
"California as well." Ruby said.  
  
"Uh, also California." Matilda said.   
  
"California....." Duncan said slowly. Now everyone was looking at Heathcliff. His brows furrowed.   
  
"........California." They all blinked and for a while, it was silent. All in one place? What kind of coincidence was this?  
  
"So what are the jobs?" Heathcliff asked.   
  
"Bodyguarding." Ruby and Duncan immediately said.  
  
"Kidnapping." Matilda and Julio chimed.   
  
"Just a simple assassination job." Heathcliff finished.   
  
"And on who....?" Julio asked, quiet. They all looked to the target.  
  
" **Jackson Jones."**  
  
Ah.   
  
Silence.   
  
.......This was pretty fucked up.   
  
.........  
  
....................  
  
.........................................  
  
And suddenly, action.   
  
Julio was swiping his gun parts from where they had scattered. Matilda had launched herself to the bedroom to get dressed and pack. Duncan was swiping his car keys. Heathcliff was packing his gun into it's case in seconds. Everyone was racing to get everything and get the hell out, because that's what it was now. A race. A silent agreement of "Let's see who gets to him first."   
  
No time for discussion, no time for pleasantries, just go go go. That was the job, and if they were against each other, then so be it.   
  
It was all a game of cat and mouse now  
  
And they all planned on winning it.


End file.
